


The Demon

by TeamFreeWill30



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dark, Demon, Demon!Dean, Gen, Mark of Cain, Mark of Cain!Dean, Pain, Sadness, Season/Series 10, Season/Series 10 Spoilers, Supernatural - Freeform, Supernatural 10x3, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamFreeWill30/pseuds/TeamFreeWill30
Summary: “Well… look at you.” The demon smirked, his mouth pulled up in a twisted grin. He tilted his chin up, exposing his bare neck against the meticulously sharpened knife that was held there by a shaky hand.He could hear the hunter’s shaky breaths as he stared down at the demon, his face filled with conflict. His arm shook hesitantly as he waited, waited for the demon to give him some way out, waited for mercy. Despite the fact that the hunter had a knife to his throat, the demon knew he had the upper hand.“Do it.” The demon challenged, his eyes cold and empty.Takes place in 10x3





	The Demon

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment any thoughts, feedback, recommendations, praise, etc.! I hope you enjoy.

“Well… look at you.” The demon smirked, his mouth pulled up in a twisted grin. He tilted his chin up, exposing his bare neck against the meticulously sharpened knife that was held there by a shaky hand. 

 

He could hear the hunter’s shaky breaths as he stared down at the demon, his face filled with conflict. His arm shook hesitantly as he waited, waited for the demon to give him some way out, waited for mercy. Despite the fact that the hunter had a knife to his throat, the demon knew he had the upper hand. 

 

“Do it.” The demon challenged, his eyes cold and empty.

 

The hunter licked his lips, something he did when he was about to get serious, and shifted his feet forward. To anyone else, it may have looked like he was about to actually go through with it, like he was going to slit the demon’s throat. But the demon knew his brother better. He knew the hunter was bluffing. 

 

“It’s all you.” The demon’s voice was steady, not showing a trace of anger or fear or regret. 

 

The hunter’s nostrils flared. He gripped tighter on the knife, his knuckles turning ghost-white from the effort. The demon felt the knife come closer to his neck, felt the sharp edge of the silver blade. But he wasn’t scared, he only kept that self-satisfied smirk on his face. This was all just a game of chicken, and they both knew he was going to win. The demon shifted his feet forward, stepping closer into the knife. That broke the hunter. He dropped the knife, his arm falling to the side. He let out a long shuddering breath. The demon chuckled, and blinked, his green eyes filling with that ominous void of blackness, consuming the only human part of him left.

 

“Wrong choice, Sammy.” 

 

The demon started at the hunter, pressing him against the wall. The hunter struggled against the demon’s iron-strong grip, trying to free himself, trying to stop his brother. The demon sighed and flipped the hunter over, gripping his right arm, which had been resting in a sling just a moment ago, twisting it behind the hunter’s back. The hunter screamed, the echoes of his pain spreading hollowly through the bunker. Humans are so weak, the demon thought, as he twisted the hunter’s arm as hard as he could without breaking it off. The hunter thrashed around, head butting the demon. The demon lost his grip, and stumbled back, feeling a trickle of blood running from his nose. He barely felt any pain, despite the evidence that the hunter had just injured him. 

 

The hunter twisted away from his grip, his right arm falling uselessly to his side as his left held his knife up. One of his feet was forward, the other was behind him, digging into the floor. It was a classic defensive position, the demon recognized. The leg in front and the arm that held the knife were in case he needed to fight, but the leg he had pushed back and into the floor was readying him to flee in case he had to. The demon rolled his eyes, taking a step forward to grab the hunter’s arm. This would have been a risky move, considering the hunter was holding a knife, but the demon had already called his bluff, and he knew the knife was only for show. He grabbed the hunter’s arm, and ripped the knife out of his hand. The hunter backed towards the wall, the look of fear on his face growing. “Dean, please…” The hunter begged, his voice radiating that same delicious fear. 

 

The demon laughed, flipping the knife over in his hand. He knew this was the end, the hunter had finally resorted to begging. He knew he had been beaten, he knew he wasn’t strong enough to kill the demon or capture the demon, emotionally or physically. He was weaponless, his right arm was broken, it was all over. Just one quick stroke of the blade and it would all be done. The demon would finally be free. 

 

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for a while.” The demon reminisced. He started pacing slowly in front of the hunter. “I’ve tried to decide what the best way to kill you would be.” When he turned, the hunter found an opportunity. He darted for the nearest door, but before he could get away the sound of two rapid gunshots echoed through the bunker and the hunter fell to the floor, glancing down at the blood pooling around his knee where the two bullets had hit. The demon stowed his gun back in its holster, glaring down at the wounded hunter. “Then I figured, the best way to kill you would be to draw it out. To make you suffer so long knowing that your own brother would be the one to finally kill you. Knowing that there’s nothing you can do about it. Knowing that after you I’m going to hunt down every single person that’s ever wronged me, starting with that angel, Castiel. Knowing that for as long as I live I will never feel remorse for your death, knowing that when I sink this knife into your gut I will finally have fulfilled my purpose, will finally be at peace.” The demon crouched down next to the hunter, staring at him like a wolf ready to devour his prey. He smiled, but the usual joy had disappeared from his cruelly twisted blood-red lips. 

 

The hunter was breathing hard, helpless to do anything against the demon, unable to move, like a lamb to the slaughter. He had never been scared of death, but both those black merciless eyes and the sharp silver knife the was held in front of the hunters face were enough to strike fear in him, and the demon could tell. The hunter’s breaths became short and shallow, his eyes were filled with fear and pain. Meanwhile, the demons black eyes were empty and hollow, cold and emotionless. “Dean, please, you-“ 

 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence when the demon dug the knife through his gut, watching the hunter’s limbs give way to the release of death as his body slumped to the ground. It took him five minutes to bleed out. The demon watched his shallow breathing as the life slowly fled from the hunter’s eyes, until he finally died on the blood-slick floor of the bunker. The demon watched him the whole time, until he was sure the hunter’s pulse had finally disappeared. He finally turned away from the body, murmuring “goodnight Sammy.” Under his breath as he left the bunker.

 

***

 

The demon was walking down the paved path that ran alongside the field. He was almost unrecognizable. His face and hands were coated in stale, crusted blood, very little of which was his own. His old red flannel shirt was ripped in more places than one, and his jeans were visibly worn. His brown hair was matted with blood, and was starting to become overgrown and shaggy. His stubble had grown into a beard. His eyes were black and emotionless, just as they had stayed for the last two weeks. He walked purposefully down that empty path, a lonely stranger on a lonely road. 

 

The angel bit his lip, watching, waiting. He knew he had to stop the demon, but he also knew stopping him could mean killing him, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that. Still, despite all his reservations, he knew what he had to do. The angel sighed, flying down to approach the demon.

 

The demon whirled when he heard the flap of wings, drawing his Blade with casual ease. He held it at the ready, waiting for an attack. The angel appeared in front of him, his eyes full of grief and fear. 

 

“Dean.” The angel greeted him. 

 

The demon sighed. “Castiel.” His voice was full of contempt

 

It was strange, the demon calling him that. He used to call him ‘Cas’, but now he was using the angel’s full name. All sense of familiarity had gone out the window. 

 

“I suppose I can’t convince you to come back to the bunker with me.” The angel said. 

 

The demon laughed. “Only if you want to drag my corpse back there. Now move before I move you,  _ angel _ .” He tried to push past the angel, but the angel reached out to stop him.

 

“Dean, I’m not going to let you do this to yourself. We’re family.” 

 

The demon rolled his eyes. “If I had a nickel for every time I heard that…” 

 

“I saw what you did back at the bunker.” The angel said, his voice thick with grief. 

 

“Then you know you can’t stop me.” 

 

“No, I know I have to stop you.” 

 

The demon shrugged, “it’s your funeral.” Suddenly, before the angel could realize it, the demon had grabbed his arm and flipped him onto the ground. He drew his Blade, an old dirt and blood-covered jawbone, and was holding it to the angel’s neck. 

 

The angel looked at him with panic in his eyes, moving quickly to throw the demon off of him. The demon fell backwards as the angel stood up and reached into the pocket of his trenchcoat, removing a set of handcuffs. The demon laughed. “You think those’ll really hold me?” 

 

The angel grabbed for his arm, attempting to cuff him before the situation escalated, but the demon wrapped his hand around the angel’s wrist and threw him to the ground. Dust flew up where the angel’s body smacked violently into the floor. The angel tried to stand up, but before he knew it, the demon had a calloused hand wrapped around his neck. The angel’s head slammed into the ground as the demon forced his neck down onto the dirt road. Blood started pooling from the angel’s head as he clawed desperately at the hand wrapped around his throat. Normally, choking an angel out wouldn’t be the most effective way to kill him, but this particular angel was low on juice, and he showed it. 

 

“Dean-“ the angel choked out with desperate breaths, his hands still clawing at the demon’s, his legs flailing wildly, his whole body twisting and writhing morbidly in an attempt to wriggle free from the demon’s grip.

 

The demon only squeezed harder around he angel’s neck, his lips curled up in a snarl. 

 

“Dean, please, please, I-“ the angel started making grotesque choking noises as his ability to breathe slowly escaped him. “Dean, I need you, I l-“ he gasped for breath as his face started to turn blue. 

 

“I don’t care.” The demon mocked, leaning closer to the angel’s face. “I never have.” 

 

The angel gasped for breath one last time, flailed his legs one more time, writhed under the demon’s grip for just another second, before his body went limp and his ocean-blue eyes went blank. 

 

The demon stood up and brushed his blood-crusted leather jacket off, watching as the dust around him settled. 

 

“Oh Squirrel,” The King of Hell’s mocking voice came from behind the demon. “What have you done?” 

 

“That’s none of your damn business, Crowley.” The demon said, not turning around, still studying the angel’s corpse. 

 

“Oh, but it is. You see, my predecessors- Lucifer, Abbadon- have had a tendency to die. And you, Squirrel, have been behind every single one of these assassinations. Now you’re getting out of control, and I can’t have you trying to usurp my throne.” The king explained. 

 

The demon scoffed. “Try and stop me.” He turned and started to walk away, until he heard a gunshot and felt a bullet dig into his shoulder. He rolled his eyes. “Really? You think a bullet is going to-” He started to turn to the king, drawing his Blade, but found that he couldn’t. He was trapped. 

 

“Devil’s trap carved into a bullet,” The king explained. “Just a little trick I picked up a few months ago.” 

 

The king stepped forward to handcuff the demon, and there was nothing the demon could do about it, but mutter, “You son of a bitch. I’ll-”

 

“Yes, yes, you’ll torture me and gut me and give me the same treatment you did your brother and that angel and whatnot.” The king interrupted, snapping his fingers. 

 

***

 

The demon screamed and thrashed as the needle, which was filled with human blood, plunged into his arm. 

 

“Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?” The king asked, stepping away from the demon tied to the chair. 

 

“You’re going to regret this Crowley.” The demon said hoarsely, glaring up at the king. His eyes flickered momentarily from black to green, without him realizing it. 

 

“Maybe I will, but if I do, I’ll just kill you. Either way, I win, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

 

“Screw you.” The demon hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes turning fully black. 

 

The king sighed. “Your insults are getting old, Squirrel.” He stabbed another needle into the demon’s arm, watching as his animalistic growls of protest echoed through the walls of Hell. 

 

The demon screamed and growled, until finally, the king stabbed him again and he blacked out, his vision going fuzzy, growing darker and darker. 

 

***

 

Dean woke up on the hard, cold floor of a cell. He blinked as the last trace of black fled his eyes. He winced at the throbbing pain in his head, trying to remember what had happened, why he was here, then it all came back to him at once, a flood of memories filling his brain. Everything that had happened since Metatron had stabbed him: Crowley bringing him back from the dead, Sam finding him and trying to cure him… killing Sam in the bunker, watching his blood pool around him, and killing Cas, choking the life out of him as he begged for Dean to please stop, please have mercy, please… come back. For the first time in a long time, Dean found that he was crying. The tears streamed down his cheeks and onto the concrete floor as he realized what he had done. He had given in to the Mark, he had given in to his destiny, he had killed his only family, he had stabbed Sam in the gut and choked the life out of Cas, even when they had both begged him to come back. He hadn’t listened. He had been merciless, he hadn’t stopped. And he hadn’t felt regret for everything he had done until now. He had become a monster, he had given into the darkness, he had become the very thing he used to hunt. He had left Sam to rot in the bunker, he had left Cas in the middle of that field, had left him to the vultures and the maggots. He hadn’t even given them a hunter’s funeral. Nothing could reverse what had happened, nothing could bring his family back, nothing could get rid of the pain and guilt and grief he felt, except… 

 

He stood up, looking around the cell. He realized he was in Hell’s throne room, in one of the many cages that lined the halls. He grabbed onto the bars, looking for something, scanning the throne room, until he found it. The First Blade was just an arms reach away from Dean’s cell. He snaked his arm through the bars, grabbing desperately for it. Finally, he reached it. He wrapped his fingers around the leather grip, pulling it through the bars. He sat down, inspecting the scratches in the old jawbone, the small chip on the front tooth, the blood stains that were splattered along the once-pristinely white bone. Dean studied it for a long time, the tears in his eyes blurring his vision, before he turned it around and plunged it into his gut. He would see his family again soon.

 

It took awhile for Dean Winchester to bleed out on the floor of that cold, concrete cell, but when he finally did, he was at peace. 


End file.
